Expat. Living. Observing. Sharing.

Tag Archives: dog

Dear crazy, vicious, used-to-be-stray dog that has found shelter in my next door neighbor’s home for the last two years:

I’ll admit it: I don’t like you. I never have. You are a vicious dog who will bark even at a gust of wind. You have not shut up for the last two years. I can’t remember the last morning when I woke up to peace and quiet.

I haven’t been nice to you, I know. Whenever I got the chance I purposely soaked you with the garden hose in a misguided attempt to enjoy a quiet afternoon drinking iced coffee in my garden. And also, your owners are insipid, irresponsible idiots who never properly take care of you or their four other dogs nor do they respect their neighbors enough to keep their animals clean. Have you any idea what your shit smells like in the summer? You know what I’m talking about? That pile of shit that never gets cleaned up from your yard. And the flies…don’t even get me started on them. But you’re just an animal, I can’t blame you anymore. I guess I was taking my anger at your owners out on you. I realize that. And for the last year I have left you alone. I have never provoked you. I tried to see the positive in you – thinking that at least you’re a guard dog for the neighborhood.

The last thing I expected was that you’d still remember the tumultuous early stages of our relationship. I did not expect to see you out in the street as I got out of my car on Saturday afternoon. I DID expect you to start barking at me, but not to actually come up to me, unprovoked, and bite my thigh. And to continue to growl, teeth bared, nipping at my feet for a full five minutes until your oh-so-responsible owner heard me screaming for help.

You got me back. Well played, sir. Lets call it a truce.

P.S. I bet you really laughed at the fact that I had to go to the hospital in dirty clothes that I wore all day while selling FISH at the farmer’s market with my cousins. Or that the doctor who had to clean my wound was kinda hot, and there I was, as fresh as fish.

So I’m in the car this morning driving to the vet to pick up Mary-Jane (my hyperactive mutt of a dog) from her haircut appointment. I’m just minding my own business, playing a little Brandon Flowers in the car (because I love him so), and as usual, singing along to the songs – admittedly not very well, albeit with passion.

A truck driver is driving in the opposite lane at normal speed, when I see him suddenly slow down and I notice he’s looking at me. Then all of the sudden he starts clapping his hands and he yells out “OPA!”

Has this man never seen a person sing in their car before? Is he merely desperate attention? Or do I make odd-looking faces as I sing that I am completely unaware of? I still can’t decide…

For the last couple of years I’ve been in a bit of a relationship dry spell; really it’s more like the Sahara desert of dry spells. And today that dry spell was unexpectedly broken – by a Samoyed named Farouk.

Unfortunately I was wearing a summer dress – a completely inappropriate barrier for the eager snout of this breathing cotton ball. He went under and didn’t want to come out. Vagina, meet Farouk’s snout. So I guess I can put the Samoyed on my list of conquests. Joy!